That 'Sofa Moment'

First of all, I owe lots of you an apology. This morning I found 14 comments waiting my 'approval'. Which I just have done. They were all just fine. I wasn't ignoring you on purpose.

I am no expert on how to be published but over the years new writers ask me either directly or post heart-felt pleas on writers' forums asking what on earth they have to do to get an agent or editor to look twice at their manuscript over which they slaved for years. And what most are looking for is a kind of mathematical formula. Do X plus Y and take away C and Bingo! A perfect manuscript that will be snapped up. I know I make suggestions here as to how writers can improve aspects of their writing, but it's still not that simple.

I still maintain, that whilst the key idea, the plot, characterisation, narrative pace, dialogue and Uncle Tom Cobley and All are important components, there has to be something else, that je ne said quoi, a kind of alchemy that changes a sharp-eyed, seen-it-all-before agent into a reader who can't put that book down.This is what I call the sofa moment when the agent puts down red pen (metaphorical or otherwise) and leaves his or her desk and relaxes on the sofa and reads for pleasure.

And that's the moment all agents are looking for and what makes the difference between a yes and a no. And it can be done but it takes a lot of effort and practice.

But don't take my word for it. Here's an account from a writer of how the agent came to offer a contract in his own words.

Imagine a long, narrow office in a Bloomsbury house.  One wall is decorated with books from chest height upwards; 'decorated' because each book is presented to display its cover, not its spine, creating a gallery of books that the agent has successfully sold into publication.  Below this kaleidoscope of cover art, there are stacks of papers filling the shelves.  The stacks are neatly ordered, but reach toppling height on each shelf, and the shelves stretch to the window.  This, he explains, is his slush pile.  A methodology is at work; each pile has been reviewed and categorised.  No, no, maybe - read again when time allows.  On his desk is a new pile, tall enough to hide the coffee pot so we peer amiably at each other across the morning's delivery of aspirations.  Fifty to sixty per week, every week, arrive this way, so he needs to form a rapid judgment about each.

So why, I ask, more than slightly humbled by the paper mountains around us, is it me sitting here rather than one of those?

Some of his answer I already knew.  Some was a surprise.

Apparently my manuscript fits into a proven genre that is fashionable and growing.  People are buying the kind of material I write.  I didn't know that, I just wrote the story that was fighting to land on the page, so that part was luck.  The concept, as described in my submission letter, was intriguing.  But most importantly, he said "I'd been reading it for some time before I realised I hadn't moved a muscle except to turn the page."  That did wonders for my ego, of course, but he reminded me that it had taken one failed novel (2 years), and then. for this manuscript. it was draft, rewrite, rewrite, external review, and rewrite (another 2 years) to get to this point.  Success this far is built on a mountain of failure.

"Too many people," he said, "give up too soon.  They underestimate the graft needed to win into mainstream publishing.  They collect a few rejections, don't learn enough from them, and put their book on Amazon for a few sales at 99p.  Sometimes that's a waste."

That's one writer's take on it, And here's my tip. Put in the work, write and learn and keep writing and learning. Work through the disappointment and the failures, work harder, fail better and keep going. But it's not about gimmicks or luck (well perhaps a pinch.) In the end it's all about the deep desire and perseverance to keep writing and improving. The more you write and learn, the luckier you get.